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An interview with Ryan Britt, the author of The Spice Must Flow, about Dune’s once-covert climate change message.

For someone who’s been hit by the Dune curse, author Ryan Britt was in good spirits when I spoke to him about his new book, The Spice Must Flow: The Story of Dune, from Cult Novels to Visionary Sci-Fi Movies, on Friday. “It has to be something, always,” he told me brightly, in reference to the second installment of Denis Villeneuve’s Dune adaptation — to which last week’s release of The Spice Must Flow had been loosely tied — getting delayed to next year due to the Hollywood strikes. Still, Britt winces at himself when he remembers he’s called Dune: Part Two a “2023 film” in print.
I imagine, though, that Britt’s readers will forgive him. The Spice Must Flow is a wonderfully enjoyable companion guide to Dune, including for people who aren’t really that deep into Arrakis lore (or haven’t, like me, read beyond Frank Herbert’s first book). Touching on everything from the nonfiction magazine article that was the earliest version of Dune, to the turbulent attempts to adapt the novel into a film, Britt also gives welcome space to how Herbert’s sandworm-populated, drugged-up sci-fi saga serves as “an ecological guide to the future.” Our conversation has been condensed and edited for brevity and clarity.
Where were you when you learned Dune: Part Two was being pushed back?
I was getting ready to make my six-year-old daughter dinner with my wife. I shouldn’t say that I was making dinner — I think my wife was getting ready to make dinner and I was helping and hanging out with my daughter. And I got a text from my literary agent just saying, “Had you seen this?”
But you know, I had seen the rumors that it was potentially going to happen. And just from an entertainment industry/publishing standpoint, it’s the most Dune thing that could possibly happen. I was joking with many people that writing a book about Dune is like — I'm entering into a world that was very hard for David Lynch and very hard for Frank Herbert and [Alejandro] Jodorowsky and Denis Villeneuve. Something always happens to people who are doing Dune projects. It was like, “Okay, so I don’t get to have a book out at the same time as the movie? I’m getting off easy compared to Lynch, who lost like four years of his life or whatever.”
You write that “the public perception of Dune as an ecological science fiction novel is perhaps the most important factor in its immortality.” But as you note in your book, Herbert didn’t exactly set out to write an ecological science fiction book. How did Dune gain the reputation of environmental literature that it has today?
I want to be careful about this because I think that it’s possible that Frank Herbert did have that intention. He dedicated the first novel to “dry land ecologists.” He began writing a nonfiction article about real sand dunes, and that led to writing Dune. I just don’t think that environmentalism was his sole intention or his sole motivating factor in completing the first book. By evidence in my research and the research of others, he played up that [intention] after it was claimed by environmentalists.
The big thing that happened is Stewart Brand’s The Whole Earth Catalog in 1968 picked Dune as an ecological text, and then Frank Herbert spoke at Earth Day in 1970. I actually brought with me as a prop the New World or No World (1970) book, which was based on a TV special Herbert did. [Reading from the book’s cover:] “‘Our ecology crisis and what to do about it,’ edited by Frank Herbert.” So this is where, by the end of the 1960s and early 1970s, Herbert really starts saying Dune was an ecological book.
And that’s definitely in the text. But at the same time, the planet ecologist who is the father of Liet-Kynes, Pardot Kynes — all of that is from the appendices that are in the novel but weren’t in the original serialized magazine versions. A lot of the big ecological ruminations are sort of covert in the first run. But even in New World or No World, where Herbert talks about putting the words of ecological concern into the mouths of his characters — that’s from the appendices. So I think that he was always throwing down a message about climate change and a message about how corrupt governments contribute to that, but he wasn’t talking that up in ‘63 and ‘65, when the first versions of the book came out. But by 1968, ‘69, ‘70, he certainly was, because the Whole Earth Catalog thing happened and I think environmentalists were clearly his people in a way that, perhaps, other science fiction writers were not.
Do you think that part of the reason Dune had mainstream success was because this environmental interpretation made it seem like more “serious” literature to readers who might not have picked up a sci-fi book otherwise?
Yes, absolutely. The reason why Dune is mainstream is because of the ecological messaging. And that’s not just true of the first novel, which is by far and away the most popular, but the thing also about Herbert is that he makes good on the idea that Dune is an ecological series in the sequels.
By the time we get to Children of Dune (1976), he has a very interesting message about climate change, which is that the sandworms are an endangered species but they’re also essential to the economy because they create the spice — the spice is an allegory for all natural resources that power transportation. So some of the best ecological messaging comes out of the sequels. Children of Dune was the first hardcover bestseller science fiction novel — in terms of being marketed as a science fiction novel — of all time. And in that book is when Herbert says, look, not only does climate change and ignoring climate change have a negative effect on our environment, but it has a negative effect on the economy as well.
Children of Dune is when Arrakis has been terraformed, like forced climate change. But it’s the reverse from us because instead of turning it into a worse environment, they’re actually making it more livable. But that is the thing that’s actually against the existing environment, and the thing that’s going to threaten to kill the sandworms and disrupt everything. So Herbert inverts the literalness by saying, Okay, this kind of forced climate change seemed like a great idea, one that the Fremen wanted, to transform it into a paradise. But now here we are, two books later, and not that much time has passed, and we’re looking at the extinction of the sandworms and the collapse of everything.
The environmental movement in the U.S. has changed a lot since Frank Herbert died in 1986. Were he still alive today, do you think he’d still be writing books with environmental themes? Or was it a passing fancy when it came to Dune?
No, no, he certainly would be. Absolutely. You could look at books like The Green Brain, and some of his other books, and definitely it’s there.
It’s interesting because you look at someone like Elon Musk — we all know there’s a political problem with Musk more broadly, and he’s almost like a character from Dune. Because he’s like, “I’m going to create all these electric vehicles,” but at what cost, right? Herbert was interested in political figures — Musk wouldn’t think of himself as a political figure, but he is — and the people with power who people don’t question. If we all agree that electric cars are good, then that would be Musk, right? But Musk is like Leto II, the God Emperor of Dune, and Leto II has ulterior motives in the end but so many people have to die to get there. So I think that if you could have Frank Herbert alive to see what’s going on with Elon Musk, he’d be like, “This is exactly what I was talking about.”
Is there anything else you’d like Heatmap readers to know about Dune?
What is really cool about Dune when it comes to its ecological messaging is that, like all good art, it is not an after-school special. That allows it to sink in more effectively. The irony that I point out in my book is that New World or No World is essentially an after-school special — it was literally on TV as a segment of people talking about the whole problem of climate change. [Reading from the book:] “I refuse to be put in a position of telling my grandchildren: ‘Sorry, there’s no world for you. We’ve used it all up.’ —Frank Herbert.” He is an environmentalist. But this book is not in print, and Dune is.
So why is Dune in print when we have to find that messaging? Because we have to find it: It’s not flashing on a giant sign like in Avatar or something like that. It’s not turning to the camera.
You look at something like Dune and you’ve got 60 years of people talking about it and thinking about it. And the “thinking about it” part is essential because people won’t change their minds with, like, a TV special. They will change their minds with a novel. A novel, a story, can move people.
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We didn’t know days like this could happen. Then we learned how bad they really are.
When I woke up this morning in Chicago, the Air Quality Index was in the 300s, and I could barely see the top of the skyscraper across the street. The weather app on my phone featured a little image of a man wearing a World War I-style full-face gas mask. That’s fun, I thought. I didn’t know it could do that.
I went downstairs. Old photographs of the city were hanging in the hotel lobby — girls playing in bathing suits next to the lake — and I realized that the haze shrouding the old Lakeshore Drive condos was in fact haze, smoke, particulate matter, and not a lens artifact. It really used to be that smoky all the time, back before the Clean Air Act. Then I glanced up and saw that the haze out the window was far worse than the century-old pollution in the picture.
It’s significant, I think, that a mass smoke-out like this has now happened to the eastern U.S. for a second time. Second times matter. When exhaust from Canadian wildfires blanketed the Northeast and parts of the Midwest in June 2023, exposing more Americans to wildfire smoke than on any previous day in history, one could almost write it off as a freak occurrence. It was upsetting, sure, and reminiscent of California’s climate-addled amber skies. But didn’t wildfire smoke also descend on New England once in the 1780s? Even on a warmer planet, couldn’t this remain a once-in-a-century blip?
Twice in just over three years, though — that‘s more than a hiccup. That’s almost a trend. To get smoked out once may be regarded as a misfortune; for it to recur again, without any plan to respond, starts to look like carelessness. The federal government is doing roughly diddly squat about adaptation — President Trump can build a fan on the border and make Canada pay for it — but state and local governments across the eastern U.S. will now need to reckon with a new form of extreme weather. You grew up with snow days, but now we’ll have smoke days — and schools and sports leagues and concert venues will need rules about how to deal with them. When should games be canceled, tickets refunded? Is smoke more like a heat wave or a hurricane? Hotels and office buildings will need to review their ventilation policies and possibly upgrade their equipment; municipal emergency response plans will be revised and printed in triplicate.
All this will happen because the smoke has invaded a second time — and arguably a third, if you count last year’s minor episode — and that means it could come back again. For that reason, this event strikes me as a much bigger deal than what happened in 2023. The smoke is now a fact of life; institutions will need a policy about it. The tortious creep of litigation risk will enforce that outcome, even if no federal official enforces it.
So it goes. But to be clear, this new inconvenience is not what worries me most about today’s events. No, what frightens me instead is that today’s airborne toxic event is not something that was supposed to happen. Until a few years ago, we had not thought too hard about whether a major smoke exposure event like this could happen on the East Coast at all. It had not seemed possible.
For years, economists and climate scientists have simulated how global warming might affect the U.S. and global economies. They poured years of careful work into this modeling, and they simulated — with ever-increasing levels of statistical persnicketiness — what extreme heat and sea-level rise might do to agricultural yield, labor productivity, energy demand, heat mortality, and real estate values, among other potential sources of damage. This work was useful; it improved our practical understanding of coastal flooding, to name one example. It also helped calibrate U.S. regulatory policy, even if it never achieved the crowning heights of helping to set a national carbon tax.
Yet these careful models almost never accounted for mass smoke exposure days. Indeed, the kind of thing that happened this week — when heavy haze blows down from Canada and exposes more than 100 million people to hazardous air — was not countenanced by the simulations at all. Only in recent years did economists begin to study events like these, and only because mass exposure events like 2023’s happened first.
We’ve long known that the tiny shreds of particulate matter in wildfire smoke dance across the body’s barriers and penetrate its deep places, etching their way into lung, heart, and brain tissue. Inflammation follows. What makes days like today unique is the scale: Tens of millions of Americans inhaling wildfire smoke at the same time. As we’ve started studying this phenomenon, it’s become clear that the mortality effects of days like today, the deaths elevated above what you’d otherwise expect, can persist for years. That becomes extraordinarily expensive for society.
How costly? “When monetized,” a group of Stanford and Princeton economists wrote in Nature last year, in the first major study on the topic, “the climate-driven smoke deaths result in economic damages that exceed existing estimates of climate-driven damages from all other causes combined in the U.S.A.”
You read that right: The cost of climate-worsened wildfire smoke alone is larger than what earlier studies said every other estimated cost of climate change would be, combined.
To summarize, wildfire smoke did not appear in our economic simulations of climate change. As recently as a few years ago, we did not really know that days like today — or June 7, 2023; or September 15, 2020; or September 9, 2020 — could occur. Then they happened. And happened again. And then we studied them and discovered that, in fact, they may be more expensive for the U.S. economy than we once thought climate change itself would be.
That worries me. Now we know these smoke-out days can happen; now they are fast becoming a rare but predictable feature of summer life. But until recently they were unimaginable. What other ignominies, what other tail risks and airborne surprises, are lurking in the uncontrolled experiment we’re running on the biosphere? What else — unforecast, unmodeled, unstudied, unthought of — lies ahead? After 10 years of covering the climate system, I am not someone who lies sleepless fretting about atmospheric CO2. But I do wonder what else we don’t know enough about to ask.
“Microsoft, you can’t hide, we can see your dirty side!”
Protestors interrupted one of the final sessions of PNW Climate Week — a conference that brings together climate leaders across Washington, Oregon, and British Columbia — objecting to Microsoft’s rising carbon emissions from data centers and partnerships with oil and gas companies. The company’s Chief Sustainability Officer Melanie Nakagawa was having a one on one conversation with GeekWire climate reporter Lisa Stiffler at Seattle’s City Hall when protestors carrying signs reading “Microsoft’s AI pollutes” and other slogans began shouting from the audience.
I was there, having just moderated the prior panel on how to finance Washington’s clean energy ambitions. Early on there were some rumblings in the crowd from up front. “Climate leaders don’t build gas pipelines in Moses Lake,” was the first objection I heard clearly. It came shortly after Nakagawa kicked off the conversation by highlighting Microsoft’s partnership with sustainable aviation fuel startup Twelve, which recently opened its first commercial-scale SAF plant in Moses Lake, Washington. The tech giant has supported the project through a strategic investment from its Climate Innovation Fund, as well as an offtake agreement for the fuel that will help offset its emissions from employee travel.
Whether Microsoft is building a gas pipeline in this particular community I haven’t been able to determine, though it seems irrelevant to Twelve’s SAF facility, which doesn’t rely on natural gas. But it is true that Microsoft is one of the largest power consumers in Grant County, Washington, home to Moses Lake, where a natural gas pipeline operator is looking to expand its network to accommodate data center load growth.
Another audience interruption was more pointed. “How does signing a 20-year deal with Chevron help you reach your clean energy goals?,” one protestor asked, referring to Microsoft's recently announced power purchase agreement with Chevron for nearly 2.7 gigawatts of natural gas-fired power to supply a West Texas data center. The project represents one of the largest gas-powered artificial intelligence developments in the U.S., and Stiffler acknowledged that she had been planning to ask about it, herself.
Nakagawa answered the question. at least in part, saying “that project with Chevron is initially using natural gas and it’s a natural gas contract,” before emphasizing that the company has built “over 4.5 gigawatts of clean energy already today,” and remains committed to balancing speed-to-power with its clean energy goals. She added that, “with this deal in particular, we’re looking at a range of tools in our toolbox to ensure that we can continue to grow our power, but also do so in a way that is responsible and sustainable.” She stopped short, however, of making any commitments to transitioning the project to renewable energy over time.
The session became more chaotic from there. Another protestor stood up, shouting that “Microsoft is enabling genocide in Palestine.” Other activists joined in, while still other audience members shouted back. As Nakagawa recovered and resumed answering a question from Stiffler about Microsoft’s recent decision to pause its carbon removal purchases after years of dominating the nascent industry, protestors throughout the crowd began a chant of “Microsoft, you can’t hide, we can see your dirty side.” Security eventually shepherded many of them out.
Stiffler continued speaking with Nakawaga about the company’s clean energy efforts, touching on many of the protestors’ concerns as she asked about community opposition to data centers, the role of large corporations in the clean energy transition, and whether Microsoft can realistically achieve its goal of becoming carbon negative by 2030.
Nakawaga emphasized that the company must, “first and foremost, listen to where the communities are and what they are calling for.” Regarding the concerns she hears most often, she explained that “first has been transparency. Second has been around resource uses and what are we doing about those resource uses. We’re hearing about jobs and employment and investments in education, investments in housing.”
If this session was any indication, those concerns won’t go away anytime soon.
Heat kills more Americans than any other extreme weather event in the United States. But wildfire smoke — while not strictly “weather” — appears to kill even more. Current excess death estimates put American heat mortality at about 10,000 people per year, or possibly as high as 12,000. Recent studies on wildfire PM 2.5 exposure suggest a mortality of double that: 24,000 all-cause deaths every year.
Needless to say, wildfire smoke is definitely not something you want to inhale if you can avoid it. (And really, you should try to.) But for the 115 million Americans in the Great Lakes and Northeast regions of the country who’ve been exposed to hazardous air from the fires in Ontario and Minnesota this week, there’s a chance that the damage is already done. According to a wildfire smoke mortality estimation tool from Cornell University’s School of Public Health and the Northeast Regional Climate Center, the total mortality for this smoke event could already be as high as 424 people so far, including nearly 100 in Michigan and more than 50 in both New York and Wisconsin.
Alistair Hayden, an assistant professor of practice in Cornell’s Department of Public and Ecosystem Health, stressed to me that the tool is a “first draft,” and that his team is still working on getting it peer-reviewed. “We intend it as a hypothesis that people can test in the coming weeks or months to confirm our numbers,” Hayden told me. “I’m really hoping to be proven wrong.”
But Hayden also emphasized that while the West Coast might historically be where many smoke-related deaths have occurred, “this is the third out of four years [in the Northeast] that we’re having the smoke, so it seems like something we should be planning for,” he said. “It reminds me of that saying: ‘Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.’”
Admittedly, the smoke this week is a bit of a freak occurrence. A cooler-than-average sea surface pattern across the North Pacific, known as a negative phase of the Pacific Decadal Oscillation, helped produce weak low-pressure areas in the northwestern part of the United States, which in turn allowed for heat domes to develop across the Southwest and Plains. After one did just that earlier this month, the hot, high-pressure dome then shifted north, where it developed “dryness across Canada, followed by the lightning-producing thunderstorms,” Chad Merrill, a senior meteorologist at AccuWeather, told me. Then, boom: widespread fires.
“It is very unusual to have a combination of an El Niño and a negative phase of the Pacific Decadal Oscillation,” Merrill went on. “That’s one of the unusual factors this year, which contributed to the heat dome being farther north in that particular position.” The heat dome and jet stream then worked together to direct the thick smoke down into some of the most populous regions of Canada and the U.S.
That’s what makes this particular smoke event so bad. Were the smoke blowing over remote regions of Canada, as it would under more usual conditions, “then the big cities and the Great Lakes wouldn’t experience the smoke; it would have gone north toward the Hudson Bay and then Greenland,” Merrill said. In fact, the Canadian fire season is tracking below average overall; it’s the meteorological conditions that made this week’s smoke events, as one outlet put it, “the perfect storm.”
Wildfire smoke in the region is not historically anomalous, however. A 1903 article in The New York Times describes a “yellow day” similar to smoky events in 1894, 1881, and earlier. But large-scale burns in Canada’s dense, remote boreal, which produce more smoke, are increasing. Though it’s difficult to attribute any one wildfire directly to climate change because of the complex nature of such events, we do know that fire weather is becoming more common with the warming of the atmosphere from greenhouse gas emissions. As modeled by Zeke Hausfather in the Friday edition of his newsletter The Climate Brink, “hotter, drier seasons burn the most” in Canada — and “recent years cluster there” as the country has outpaced the global average in warming.
But as Hausfather also writes, “While overall area burned is the climate-linked trend, who breathes the smoke on a given week in July is mostly driven by the weather.” This is similar to the way that, though it may be a quiet year in the Atlantic, it only takes one hurricane making landfall in the right (or wrong) spot for the season to be remembered as catastrophic.
On the other hand, as foolish as it might be for the Central Plains and East Coast to still believe smoke is the exclusive domain of Westerners, it is also a mistake to assume smoke only comes from without. As I reported earlier this year, the Eastern half of the country has seen a 10-fold jump in the frequency of large burns over the last 40 years. Nowhere is safe from the smoke.
Planning and preparation, then, should be paramount. But as Grist learned last month, there are no established Air Quality Index numbers that would trigger the postponement, relocation, or cancellation of, say, a FIFA World Cup game, including the final, which is set to be played in New Jersey on Sunday. White House officials are reportedly meeting with FIFA’s president on Friday to discuss contingencies, given the unhealthy air quality in the region.
Which brings us back to Hayden’s modeling. He offered a note of optimism in that research by Stanford’s Sam Heft-Neal and his colleagues indicates that emergency room visits do not rise in tandem with increasing wildfire smoke. “As smoke gets bad, the health impacts get bigger. But then as smoke gets worse and worse, the amount of health impacts actually goes down, measured for emergency room visits,” Hayden said. “The idea is that people modify their behavior in higher smoke” — say, by staying indoors, wearing masks, or canceling outdoor events.
It’s time to treat smoke as an East Coast phenomenon, in other words. Doing so will save lives. “Will [smoke events] become more frequent in the future? Most likely we will see a recurrence,” Merrill, the meteorologist, told me. “How often they happen is yet to be determined.”